


Long Journey Home

by fuzipenguin



Series: Traveling Through Love [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Asexual Character, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Other, Pansexual Character, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: The Twins are known for their ability to rip another mech apart - does their knowledge of anatomy serve them when they're the only ones around to repair Ratchet's major wound?





	Long Journey Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alangrieal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alangrieal/gifts).



> Commission fic - expansion on a tumblr prompt by notanevilmastermind - Ratchet and the twins with “ what are you talking about? this is not just a scratch ” and an injured Ratchet for a change.

          “Watch out!” Sunstreaker hissed, placing a hand on top of Ratchet’s helm and shoving him down behind a hunk of twisted metal.

          It had once been part of a building, one of maybe a dozen which had been largely destroyed in some battle or another. Ratchet couldn’t remember if this place had ever had an official designation; most of the isolated towns at the edges of the Uraya Wastes had been nameless even before the war.

           Ratchet had the urge to growl and throw off Sunstreaker’s hand, but a little bit of indignation didn’t warrant exposing their position to the trio of drones barely a klik away. So he stayed silent and seethed at the handling, glaring up at the side of Sunstreaker’s pretty face.

           Which was soot and mud covered. Ha!

           A tense half-breem later, Sunstreaker released Ratchet, although he gestured for continued silence. Ratchet warily rose back onto his knees and peered around their cover, but couldn’t spot any more of the enemy drones. He had just relaxed when a subtle vibration in the ground behind him caused Ratchet to whirl around, blaster raised. 

           “Woah, Ratchet, I know I torque you off sometimes, but that’s a little excessive, isn’t it?” Sideswipe asked in a whisper, sliding into Ratchet and Sunstreaker’s little alcove. 

           “Damnit, Sideswipe!” Ratchet hissed, quickly lowering the weapon. “I almost shot you! Make some noise!”

           “Kinda against the point of being sneaky,” Sideswipe replied with an arched orbital ridge. 

           “Shut up, the both of you!” Sunstreaker growled, gaze still fixed off in the distance. “We still have a ways to go to the rendezvous point, and I’m not keen on spending the night in a ‘con brig.”

           “I agree,” Ratchet said, shifting around to push himself to this feet. Halfway there, a flare of pain shot up his side, but he stifled his gasp and made it upright. “Ready?”

           He glanced over at Sideswipe to see the frontliner staring at him, optics narrowed in consideration. Seconds later, Sunstreaker’s head turned, and Ratchet was pinned in place by two intense gazes. 

          “What?” Ratchet exclaimed.

           Quietly. 

           “You winced,” Sideswipe accused, pointing a finger at Ratchet’s side.

           Well, damn. He had hoped no one had noticed that. “And? I told you I took a few hits,” Ratchet said crossly, angling his body away from them. 

           “You said it wasn’t anything worse than a scratch,” Sunstreaker retorted, reaching out faster than Ratchet could duck away from. Then his knees were buckling out from under him as a white hot spike of pain pierced his sensory net. His optic-sight momentarily fritzed in response, but he could still see Sunstreaker’s fingers liberally coated in fresh energon when he lifted them up in front of Ratchet’s face. “This is not just a scratch.”

           “A deep scratch,” Ratchet gasped, hand flying up to press over the injury. “It’s fine.”

           “Ratchet,” Sideswipe warned, kneeling down at Ratchet’s side. "Tell us the truth. It’s ok if it’s bad; we're no strangers to that. But we gotta know so we can plan.”

            Ratchet darted a glance over at Sunstreaker, then back at Sideswipe, seeing no help from either twin. He didn’t want to worry them, but Sideswipe was right. They needed to know. 

            “I’m almost certain it’s a nick in the left aortal-iliac branch. Self-repair is fighting a losing battle so it has to be a bigger line under high pressure. It’s also not accessible in field repair conditions,” Ratchet explained with a heavy sigh. 

            “Which means what exactly in non-medic babble?” Sideswipe questioned.

            Ratchet rolled his optics, a bad habit he’d picked up from the very same mechs who were currently interrogating him. 

            “It means that if I don’t get knocked out and repaired, I’m going to bleed out in roughly eight joors,” Ratchet snapped. He felt almost a perverse need to shock the twins but neither of them so much as even flinched at the news.

            “Well, that’s a bit of a problem considering we’re about a day and a half away from Autobot lines. Unless you have any favors you can call in from a nearby ‘con medic,” Sunstreaker said, going back to scanning the horizon for threats.

            “The closest person with any medical experience is Shockwave. No, thank you. I’d rather die,” Ratchet retorted hotly.

            “Ok. Well, you’re one of Prime’s friends, so I doubt he’d be very happy you died, either from Shockwave or bleeding out. Can you talk us through a repair?” Sideswipe asked, beginning to rummage through his subspace pockets.

            Ratchet stared in astonishment at Sideswipe’s bent head for a nanoklik and then looked over at Sunstreaker. He didn’t seem surprised by Sideswipe’s question so Ratchet assumed that meant they were in agreement about the offer.

            “Are you joking?” Ratchet asked faintly. Surely they didn’t think the idea was possible? 

            Sideswipe paused in the act of pulling several cloths from his subspace. “Well… we like you too.” The mech’s earnest gaze turned a bit lascivious as he looked Ratchet up and down. “It’d be a shame if you kicked it before I could ride the Party Ambulance at least once.”

            “Really, Sides?” Sunstreaker commented with a quiet sigh. Sideswipe just chuckled in response and began folding the cloths he had found into neat little squares.

            “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think that’s going to work,” Ratchet replied, answering Sideswipe’s original question.

            “Why not?” Sideswipe finished messing with his pile and indicated for Ratchet to turn. Ratchet merely cocked an orbital ridge at him.

            “It’s a delicate operation that will require time. Not exactly something that can be done on the run behind enemy lines!” Ratchet protested, watching Sideswipe roll his optics and slide closer. He reached out for Ratchet’s side with one of the squares, and Ratchet automatically flinched away.

            “Hold still,” Sideswipe commanded, grabbing Ratchet’s hip to keep him in place. The frontliner dabbed at the energon seeping from the puncture wound on Ratchet’s side, trying to peer into the small hole.

            “Delicate or not, we gotta at least try. Don’t exactly have a stock of energon we can shove down your throat to replace the stuff you’re losing,” Sunstreaker remarked, watching Sideswipe with a critical optic.            

            “Could always transfuse,” Sideswipe suggested, the tip of his glossa poking out from between his lips as he worked. “Never met a medic who didn’t have a transfusion kit on them somewhere.”

            “Won’t matter if he’s still got a leak,” Sunstreaker pointed out reasonably, while Ratchet just stared from one twin to the next. Why were they ignoring everything he had said?!

            He abruptly shoved Sideswipe’s hands away; he couldn’t seem to keep up with the flow of fluids from the wound anyway. Ratchet’s HUD threw up a warning that self-repair efficiency had dropped by at least twenty percent, despite his manual shunt of its duties from his other superficial injuries to the leak. Temporary nanite patches were obviously not holding.

            “You’re not hearing me,” Ratchet growled. “I’m dying. Trying to fix me is a waste of time and likely to get all three of us caught. Leave me here and keep going.”

            Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged a glance, their optics flickering for a brief second. Then they moved in eerie unison.

            Sunstreaker pounced on Ratchet, forcing him to the ground and covering his mouth. Sideswipe bracketed Ratchet’s wound with one hand and unceremoniously began stuffing a new cloth down into the hole. He wasn’t exactly gentle about it, and Ratchet was glad they had the foresight to cover his mouth because he yelled into Sunstreaker’s palm as the charred edges of the wound heartily protested the rough treatment.  

            He writhed beneath the onslaught of pain, Sunstreaker hard pressed to keep him both still and quiet as Sideswipe slapped a static bandage over the cloth-filled wound. Once it was in place, Sunstreaker released him to sit back, and Ratchet let his helm hit the hard ground with a wheeze of his vents.

            “You pit… pit-spawned fraggers,” Ratchet gasped out, fingers tentatively touching the bandage. That had _hurt_.

            Sideswipe shrugged non-apologetically and began shoving his supplies back into his subspace.

            “We _are_ going to keep moving. But you’re coming with us,” Sunstreaker announced, shouldering his rifle and taking one more look around before standing.

            “Idiots,” Ratchet muttered in despair. So they were all going to be captured and killed. Great.

            “ _You’re_ an idiot if you think we’re leaving you,” Sideswipe said cheerfully. He reached down and tugged Ratchet back into a seated position, Ratchet biting back a groan as the motion made his side twinge.

            Sunstreaker came forward and grabbing an arm apiece, they dragged Ratchet to his feet. Before Ratchet could even sway in place, Sideswipe bent and rammed into Ratchet’s abdomen, causing him to gasp and fold over the other mech’s shoulder. With a grunt, Sideswipe hefted Ratchet upwards.  

            “Frag. You’re heavier than you look,” Sideswipe commented, voice sounding a bit strained as he adjusted his stance.

            “What are you doing?! I can still walk!” Ratchet protested, head swimming as his gyros recalibrated for the new position. Surprisingly, his diagnostic program informed him that there was now a 50% decrease in loss of energon from his pierced line. Ratchet didn’t know if they had done it on purpose, but gravity and Ratchet’s own weight were working together to press his wound directly against Sideswipe’s shoulder in a makeshift pressure bandage.

            “Save your energy. You have to be awake to walk us through the repair,” Sunstreaker explained, lifting the blaster Ratchet had dropped earlier and shoving it back into Ratchet’s hand. “Here - watch Sideswipe’s back.”

            “And stop wiggling,” Sideswipe added, taking a few steps forward. He tilted to the side to offset Ratchet’s weight, hand clamping down just above the back of one white knee. “You’re throwing my balance off every time you do.”

            “This is insane,” Ratchet remarked miserably, letting his arms and legs fall limp. What else could he do against a pair of determined frontliners? When he was at his best, he might have been able to fight them off, but not while suffering from a fatal wound.

            “Not the craziest thing we’ve done,” Sideswipe said, beginning to move with slow, but steady pedefalls. “Now, shuttit. Sunny’s on point, but we still have to keep an optic and audial out.”

            --

            The twins switched off carrying Ratchet every half joor. After the second switch, Ratchet couldn’t resist the question any longer.

            “Are you carrying me this way on purpose?” Ratchet inquired into Sideswipe’s back plate.

            “How else am I supposed to carry you? Is there a procedure for this? Are we gonna get brig time for improper carriage of the CMO?” Sideswipe shot back. One of his hands slid higher up on Ratchet’s closest thigh and squeezed lightly.

            Ratchet rolled his optics and switched his hold to the barrel of his blaster, smacking the grip against Sideswipe’s aft. The frontliner made an adorable little squeak of surprise, and Ratchet grinned.

            “I won’t say anything if you won’t. Actually, please don’t say anything at all. I worked hard to put the fear of the Unmaker in my apprentices,” Ratchet replied, readjusting the blaster.

            To his surprise, the twin on point kept checking back with Ratchet to make sure he wasn’t seeing any signs of being followed. It made him feel slightly more useful in the situation.

            “We’ll see. I got some good image captures that I’m just itching to disperse,” Sideswipe replied teasingly. “Of course I could always be persuaded to hold on to them…”

            “Blackmailing a senior office _would_ get you brig time,” Ratchet warned. “And back to my original question – why not just carry me in your arms?”

            “Takes two arms,” Sunstreaker supplied, coming up on Sideswipe’s other side. “Stop a sec. He’s leaking again.”

            Sideswipe came to a halt and bent, Ratchet sliding down the warrior’s front until his pedes touched the ground. Ratchet hissed as the landing jarred his wound and he automatically pressed his hand against his side, only to feel it wet once more. Sideswipe held him steady, optics roving around their surroundings as Sunstreaker examined their makeshift bandage.

            “How you feeling?” Sunstreaker asked, carefully peeling a corner of the static patch up and peering beneath it. He hurriedly replaced it when energon started to well up.

            “Not as bad as I thought I would,” Ratchet admitted. “Light-headed, but still functional. There was some compression of the leakage with the way you were carrying me.”

            “And mecha say we’re just dumb grunts,” Sideswipe joked, proving Ratchet’s theory true. “You got that cube, Sunshine?”

            “Don’t call me that,” Sunstreaker replied absently, reaching into his subspace and pulling out a small, square piece of metal. With a few flicks of his wrist, the object expanded into a traveling energon container. “Ready?”

            “Give me a sec,” Sideswipe muttered, rummaging in his own subspace for a moment before whipping out another cloth. “Ok, you gotta keep quiet now, Ratch. Sunny, go.”

            In one quick motion, Sunstreaker ripped off the static square and yanked the soaked energon cloth out from under Ratchet’s plating. Barely a beat later, Sideswipe stuffed the new material back into the wound. Mindful of Sideswipe’s warning, Ratchet muffled his shocked cry by burying his face against Sideswipe’s shoulder.

            He dimly heard liquid spattering against the ground, and Ratchet managed to lift his head and look down at his wound. But the area around it was relatively clean, and Sideswipe was tucking the last corner of the cloth inside.

            Ratchet heard the tinkling sound again, and he dazedly looked over to see Sunstreaker crouched over the small cube, wringing the used cloth out into it. The gold frontliner was intent on his activity, making sure not a single drop of Ratchet’s energon was spilled.

            “What… what are you doing?” Ratchet asked, swaying a little on his feet. The entire left side of his body, from pede to helm, ached and the pain made his processor dull.

            “Waste not, want not,” Sideswipe said. He gently tugged Ratchet back against his chest and fumbled open a new static bandage, slapping it over the blaster wound. “You never know when that energon might come in handy later.”

            Ratchet made a face of disgust. “That’s barbaric. Where did you learn to do that?”

            “You pick things up,” Sideswipe replied in a vague manner.

            Ratchet wondered when and where exactly the twins had learned to save the energon from their own wounds. It wasn’t a sterile fluid so he hoped they hadn’t been transfusing it back into their lines. Of course, drinking it directly was completely unappetizing as well. And it wasn’t as if the already half-processed fluid would produce a lot of energy.

            “I think we’re about to hit another patrol,” Sunstreaker announced, wringing the last of the energon out. He carefully sealed the cube back up and put the damp cloth in a loose bag. Both went into his subspace. “We should hide; give us a chance to rest for a few minutes.”

            He pointed with his chin over to a small configuration of rocks that didn’t look like it would hide a minibot. Ratchet shook off Sideswipe’s hands and with carefully placed steps, started walking towards the landmark. It only took nanokliks for him to realize he’d be better off with one of the twins carrying him, but at that point it was the principle of the matter.

            “What makes you think there’ll be another patrol?” Ratchet asked, trying to keep his mind off the pain spreading through him. Apparently the compression of the wound had also numbed some of the sensory wires in the area and now they were screaming from rebound information.

            “They’re predictably unpredictable,” Sideswipe replied, hovering close to Ratchet’s side while Sunstreaker trailed behind, scanning the terrain.

            “That makes no sense whatsoever,” Ratchet complained, stopping at the edge of the rocks. Up close, he realized that they were more expansive than he had originally thought, some of them hanging over a small crevice in the ground.

            “They’re Shockwave’s drones. They make no sense to start with,” Sunstreaker said, hopping down into the fissure. The edges came up to his waist, which meant if they crouched down, they’d be hidden from view. Add in their spark dampeners, and they should be safe for a bit if the twins were right about the patrol. “Come here.”

            With the twins’ help, he finally made it into the narrow space, stifling his gasps of pain at every contortion his body went through. At this rate, he’d soak through another bandage in a breem.

            Ratchet was panting heavily by the time he plopped down on his aft at the back of a small, deep alcove formed by several overhanging rocks. Somehow Sunstreaker managed to cram himself in next to Ratchet.

            “What are you doing?” he asked as Sunstreaker inched forward on his knees, facing Ratchet. “There’s not enough space for any type of medical procedure in here.”

            Out of the corner of his vision, he noted Sideswipe pulling himself back out of the crevice. He was probably acting as look out although Ratchet hadn’t noted them openly communicating who was going to go where.

            It was always amazing to watch the two of them work together. He supposed they could have been using their bond to communicate, but Ratchet suspected that it was rather just a lifetime of being together.           

            “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

            “Sorry for what?” Ratchet began to question, but the last word came out in a muffled squeal as Sunstreaker shuffled even closer, neatly pressing his knee against Ratchet’s side and bearing his weight down on it. The frontliner’s palm once again found its way over Ratchet’s mouth, and he automatically gripped Sunstreaker’s wrist, fingers flexing in protest.

            “You’re bleeding too much, too fast,” Sunstreaker informed him in a quiet voice. “Gotta keep pressure on it. After this patrol passes by, we’ll keep moving, pick up some speed. I don’t think you’re going to be awake for too much longer, and we need to find a safer place to fix that leak.”

            Ratchet was too weak to shove Sunstreaker away. Just then, Sideswipe dropped down into the small cave, providing a welcome distraction to Sunstreaker’s bulk pressing down on Ratchet’s open wound. Sideswipe hurriedly turned and backed himself into the alcove, settling on one knee in the opening with guns in both hands. His shoulder rocket softly hummed to life.  

            “Just in time. Four in this patrol. Keep quiet,” Sideswipe curtly informed them, voice barely audible. In reply, Sunstreaker used his free hand to withdraw one of his own guns and power it on. Both twins tensed in readiness, systems quieting down to a near whisper.

            Ratchet shut his optics and focused on his ventilations, making them steady and as soundless as possible. His entire body thrummed with the urge to whine and writhe, but he held back with the thinnest thread of control. It wasn’t just himself he had to think about if the drones heard him.

            He concentrated on his self-diagnostics, once more noting his energon loss slowing down. Fluid was still gathering in the free spaces under his abdominal plating, but the cloth stuffed inside was wicking it up. It was extremely crude battlefield tactics, but the twins were surprisingly resourceful with supplies they were working with. They were frontliners; they packed weapons, not med kits.

            If Ratchet made it through this, he planned on sitting the two of them down and picking their processors on other rudimentary survival strategies they might have used throughout the millennia.

            A scuff of sound directly above his head made Ratchet flinch. He onlined his optics and stared upwards at the rock ceiling just a few inches above him, trying to peer through the impenetrable substance. Sunstreaker brought his gun hand up to his face, placing a finger over his lips, asking for silence.

            Ratchet rolled his optics at the frontliner. Right, because Ratchet had just been thinking about bursting into song.

            Sunstreaker frowned at him and silently leaned forward, practically blanketing Ratchet’s front. Ratchet blinked in confusion at the edge of Sunstreaker’s shoulder. Their chests were practically brushing, the heat from Sunstreaker’s warbuild frame buffeting Ratchet’s and making his head swim.

            But he had trusted them up to this point, so he didn’t protest. Instead he sat there like a good little Autobot, his spark beating rapidly.

            Several minutes later, Sunstreaker relaxed and moved back into his original position. He put away his gun, and Ratchet saw Sideswipe’s rocket launcher sink back down into its mount. The red twin stealthily moved back into the open crevice and crept out of sight once more.

            Sunstreaker’s hand over Ratchet’s mouth loosened, and he looked at Ratchet inquiringly. Ratchet nodded, and Sunstreaker removed his palm completely.

            “Half sparks,” Sunstreaker explained in a quiet voice. He lightly thumped his own chestplate. “They read like mechanimals on their sensors.”

            “I have a dampener,” Ratchet replied. Sunstreaker shrugged, looking over his shoulder at the spot where Sideswipe had last been.

            “Can’t hurt to have a little extra insurance.”

            A moment later, Sideswipe dropped back down, a small puff of dust rising up from around his pedes. He grinned at them.

            “Heading off to the south. No sign of them spotting us. How’re doin’ Ratchet?” Sideswipe asked, gently touching Ratchet’s outflung pede.

            “Oh, you know… dying,” Ratchet replied flippantly. He thought Sideswipe would make a quip back, but instead the smile faded from his face.

            “Well, guess we should get moving then so we can try and stop that.”

\--

            Over the next two and a half joors, the twins picked up the pace. They switched off less frequently and their long legs ate up the distance. Ratchet quickly lost all sense of direction, especially as he couldn’t see his surroundings. He was grateful that the brothers seemed to know where they were going.

            There had been about a breem-long stop for one more changing of the cloths. Ratchet hadn’t been able to stay standing. He had sunk to his knees under Sunstreaker’s guidance and hadn’t even vocalized at the removal of the mesh bandage. Knowing that he was fading fast, he had once more told them to leave him, but they refused.

            Stubborn mechs. Not that he wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if he had been in their tires. He was quite fond of them, after all. Maybe if he got through this he’d let Sideswipe ride the Party Ambulance after all. Ratchet wondered if Sunstreaker wanted a go as well.

            A rougher than normal step made Ratchet wearily lift his head to survey his surroundings. They had taken away the blaster about a joor ago as Ratchet’s fingers had gotten too clumsy to keep hold of it. Now the twins walked side by side.

            Ratchet didn’t see anything out of the ordinary except a wide-opticked Sunstreaker staring at him.

            “What?” Ratchet asked.

            “You have no idea that you said that out loud, do you?” Sideswipe asked, his entire frame shaking with suppressed laughter. “You asked Sunstreaker if he wanted to frag you if we all made it out alive.”

            Ratchet smiled weakly, and Sunstreaker ducked his head. “Sorry, Sunny. Didn’t mean to embarrass you. Just figured it wouldn’t be right to offer to Sideswipe and not you.”

            “Well, I will take you up on that offer, if after all this you still really mean it,” Sideswipe announced, one of his hands ghosting up the back of Ratchet’s thigh to lightly pat his aft. “But you’ll have to make due with just me.”

            “You two don’t share?” Ratchet asked, curious. He didn’t really keep track of anyone’s relationships, but the twins did everything together. It just seemed logical that that would extend to their interfacing as well.

            Ratchet felt the motion of Sideswipe shaking his head and noticed Sunstreaker side-stepping a little further away.

            “Don’t feel bad; Sunny’s just not interested,” Sideswipe explained which was reason enough for Ratchet. He let his head hang again, chin occasionally bumping against Sideswipe’s back.

            It was probably another breem before out of the corner of his gaze, Ratchet saw Sunstreaker move closer again.

            “I’m never interested. In anyone. It’s not you,” Sunstreaker spoke in a rush of words.

            Ratchet turned his head to look at the golden frontliner. Beneath him, Sideswipe tensed, but stayed silent.

            “I’m sorry?” Ratchet asked, confused.

            “It’s not you. I just… I’ve never…” Sunstreaker trailed. His gaze shifted upwards, a lost expression on his face. “Sides…”

            “Sunny’s never been interested in fragging. Doesn’t see others that way. Doesn’t do lust like you or I would,” Sideswipe said, answering Sunstreaker’s unspoken plea for help. “He indulges me every now, though; he’s got great hands, let me tell you.”

            Ratchet thought about that bit of information for a split astrosecond and then awkwardly nodded, optics on Sunstreaker. “Many years ago, I knew a mecha like that. He was a good friend.”

            Sunstreaker’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “It doesn’t bother you?”

            “No, of course not,” Ratchet replied reassuringly, sensing that this had been a problem for Sunstreaker in the past. Maybe it still was. “Firstly, it’s none of my business, and secondly… you certainly don’t need a spike or a valve to love someone.”

            “… thank you,” Sunstreaker replied quietly after several more steps.

            Sideswipe lightly squeezed the back of Ratchet’s knee, and Ratchet suspected it was a subtle act of gratitude.

            “So that’s Sunny,” the red twin added after a moment. “Me, on the other hand, I’ll frag anything that consents.”

            “I’m not surprised,” Ratchet answered, lips twisting into a wry smile, one he shared with Sunstreaker. “Then you should have a store of experience to draw on when I take you to my berth, right? I expect to be wowed.”

            “I’ll do my best. Nothing less for my favorite medic.”

            “Mmm. I don’t suppose you’ll listen to your favorite medic’s request to leave him and go on ahead, just the two of you,” Ratchet suggested, knowing it was a futile endeavor by this point. No one idly spilled a huge secret like Sunstreaker’s to someone they didn’t trust. Apparently they were just as fond of him as he was of them.  

            “Nope!” Sideswipe replied cheerfully. “We’ve always wanted the opportunity to put our frame knowledge to the test. We can rip things apart; maybe it’s time to put something back together for once.”

            “I’m not sure you’ll be able to do that with me,” Ratchet murmured, pushing aside his HUD alerts once again. They were becoming more frequent now, once every breem or so. His fuel levels were at a depressing 28% now.

            “Sides,” Sunstreaker called out, causing Sideswipe to pause. Ratchet tried to squirm around and see what had caught the golden warrior’s attention, but it made a bolt of pain spear him and he collapsed back against Sideswipe’s shoulder with a groan.

            “That might work,” Sideswipe mused, ignoring Ratchet’s weak wriggling. “Don’t think we can really afford to be picky right now. It’s not like we’re going to find a pristine operating theatre out here in the Wastes. Here. Watch him, I’ll go check it out.”

            And then suddenly Ratchet’s head was spinning, his vision whiting out at the edges. He felt a hard surface beneath his pedes and then strong arms wound around his waist. The grip kept him on his feet, but only barely. Sunstreaker held the majority of his weight, propping Ratchet up against Sunstreaker’s broad chest.

            “What… what did you find?” Ratchet asked, vents straining. Primus, he hurt. Every last inch of him.

            “A place to hole up maybe. It’s not much. Looks like maybe an abandoned mine. Doing ok?” Sunstreaker asked. “Bleeding seems to have slowed a bit.”

            “… because… not much… left to bleed,” Ratchet choked out. “Sunny… I’m not going to … last … much longer.”

            “Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Sunstreaker murmured, squeezing Ratchet tighter and putting more pressure on his side in the process. “You gonna stay with us? Can’t do it without you.”

            “Try to,” Ratchet said, closing his optic shutters. They were far too heavy to keep open.

            “Just a little longer, Ratch,” Sunstreaker cajoled, one hand stroking Ratchet’s lower back in an awkward caress. “Hey… um…that mech you knew. The one like me… did he… was he…”

            Sunstreaker trailed off and Ratchet didn’t know if he was attempting a serious talk or just trying to keep Ratchet distracted

            “Was he… what?”

            “…wrong. Was he wrong somehow? Like were his wires crossed in his processing unit or something?” Sunstreaker finally said.

            And wow, Ratchet’s optic shutters were not that heavy after all. He jerked back within Sunstreaker’s embrace, enough so that he could look up into the other mech’s face.

            “No! Absolutely not! And you’re not… _damaged_ in some way either. Not feeling lust is rare, but it’s not unheard of. There is nothing wrong with you, Sunstreaker!” Ratchet exclaimed, feeling a slight tremble in Sunstreaker’s frame.

            Sunstreaker averted his gaze. “That’s what Sideswipe’s said too. But he’s not a doctor and…”

            “Well, I am.” Ratchet squirmed until he could free his right arm and managed to lift a hand up to Sunstreaker’s cheek. “You trust me, don’t you?”

            “… yeah,” Sunstreaker muttered, his head still turned away. Ratchet gripped Sunstreaker’s chin and directed his face around so that their optics met.

            “You’re. Not. Wrong,” Ratchet repeated, emphasizing each word.

            Sunstreaker stared at him with wide optics for a long moment, entire frame trembling. He suddenly startled badly as they both heard the soft scuff of a pedestep and then Sideswipe was leaning into his brother from behind, lips pressing against the edge of a helm fin in a quick kiss. The red twin sidled around until his chest was pressed against both Ratchet’s and Sunstreaker’s shoulders.

            “I told you,” Sideswipe said fiercely, gaze locked on his brother’s face. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

            “Sides…” Sunstreaker whispered, his hands tightening on Ratchet’s waist. “Nobody’s perfect,” he finished.

            Sideswipe vehemently shook his head and then gave Sunstreaker a smirk. “Lies. You are. I wouldn’t share my spark with someone who wasn’t.”

            Sunstreaker huffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

            “Yeah, but you love me,” Sideswipe replied, leaning in to rest his forehelm against his brother’s. Sunstreaker’s optics slipped closed as he turned his head into the touch. Ratchet observed from barely a foot away, unspeakably touched that he was allowed to share in such a moment.

            “Yeah, I guess I do,” Sunstreaker sighed after a moment, drawing back. Sideswipe beamed happily at his twin before turning to face Ratchet.

            “Alright, enough of all that feelings slag! Guess we should get started on saving your life and all, right?”

 

\--

 

             Ratchet couldn’t help but smile back, weak as it was. Now that he wasn’t fired up about ensuring Sunstreaker believed him, he feel his energy starting to drain away again.

             “If I can’t convince you otherwise…”

             “Never. Come on, seems safe enough,” Sideswipe reported, nodding at the mine entrance. “We’ll have to squeeze in, but at least it will be too small for the drones. Gets wider a little ways in and there’s a nice-sized cave in the back we can use. Sand floor. Soft.”

             Ratchet rolled his optics. “Soft, yes. Also gets everywhere, especially internals.”

             “Not a problem,” Sunstreaker said, once more hefting Ratchet onto his shoulder.

             Ratchet was starting to get really tired of the maneuver, no matter how much it slowed down his energon loss.

             Sideswipe entered the mine first, Sunstreaker passing Ratchet off as if he were some sort of toy. He probably was just as limp as one. He tried his best, but he could barely keep to his feet, much less take proper steps. Eventually they just plopped him on his aft and dragged/pushed him deeper into the mine shaft until it opened up enough for Sideswipe to heft him onto a shoulder again.

            Sunstreaker immediately turned around and went back the way they came; Ratchet watched him go in confusion. Even more so when Sideswipe continued on deeper into the tunnels.

            “Where’s Sunny going?” Ratchet rasped.

            “Covering our trail. He’ll be back in a sec. Ah, here we are. Home sweet home,” Sideswipe announced, ducking under a stony outcropping and into a small cave. It looked more natural than mech-made; not surprising considering the trickle of liquid Ratchet could hear in one of the corners. And indeed, the floor was covered largely in sand. Ratchet watched Sideswipe’s pedes sink in a few inches.

            Sideswipe deposited Ratchet along the far wall, propping him up in a seated position. Then the frontliner started rummaging through his subspace pockets, pulling things out at random. Ratchet watched bemusedly for a klik or two before speaking up.

            “Those space mods are a big strain on your energy reserves, you know that, right?” Ratchet said.

            “Yup. You’ve told me before. But gotta carry the toys somehow. Aha!” Sideswipe exclaimed triumphantly, withdrawing a crinkly square of material into the open air. He shook it out, revealing something akin to a tarp. Sideswipe carefully draped it over the sandy floor of the cave, securing it at each corner with… rocket heads?

            As Ratchet squinted at the suspicious looking objects, Sideswipe took out another piece of material and began folding it lengthways. Soon he had a thick blanket, longer than it was wide, laid out on top of the tarp.

            “Whaddya think?” Sideswipe asked. “Will this suit Your Highness?”

            Ratchet gave Sideswipe a withering look. Although inwardly, he was impressed. Ratchet was obviously meant to lie there as the twins worked on him. It was soft, clean, dry, and most importantly, no obvious sand particles were visible.

            “It’ll do,” Ratchet retorted, actually looking forward to the makeshift bed. His struts hurt, and remaining halfway bent over in an attempt to place pressure on the slit line was agony.

            “Good. Alright, now time to see what’s in your pockets – you are carrying a kit, right?” Sideswipe inquired with a tilt of his head.

            “Of course,” Ratchet replied, slightly offended. He wearily reached for his side.  

            “Want me to help… Ratchet! Primus!” Sideswipe exclaimed as he dove across the space between them. He steadied Ratchet from where he had begun to list dangerously. Ratchet blinked up at the frontliner, nonplussed.

            “Just show me where,” Sideswipe instructed, free hand hovering over Ratchet’s abdomen.

            It was embarrassing to feel another’s hands inside his subspace, but Ratchet didn’t have the strength to pull out his heavy emergency kit. Or the even larger, better stocked backup.

            “Nice,” Sideswipe commented after propping Ratchet back up against the wall. Sideswipe surveyed the two open containers and their contents. “Can you think of anything else we might need, Sunny?”

            Ratchet jerked as Sunstreaker appeared at the corner of Ratchet’s vision. He hadn’t heard the frontliner move into the cave at all. Ratchet didn’t know if that was Sunstreaker’s stealth or if Ratchet was losing audial input. He didn’t care to waste energy on running his self-diagnostic to find out.

            “…shouldn’t we sterilize things?” Sunstreaker hesitantly asked, kneeling at Ratchet’s side. The frontliner frowned as his gaze ran over Ratchet’s emergency equipment.

            “A lot of it already is,” Ratchet replied. “And for the rest…” he rotated his left pede outwards, indicating the larger box. “…there’s a disinfectant spray in the bottom. Use it on your hands and whatever isn’t already pre-packaged.”

            “All right, so what’s the plan exactly?” Sideswipe asked, pulling things out of each box and lining them up on the tarp to the right of the blanket. “I’m thinking once we get you lying down, there’s not going to be a huge amount of time we can work in.”

            “You’d be right,” Ratchet sighed, letting his optics slip closed to better focus. He pictured his own frame anatomy, thinking of the best way for an approach. “The actual nick is here, closer towards the back,” Ratchet said, gesturing to his lower abdomen.

            “I suggest rolling me on my side and cutting through my plating here.” Ratchet straightened out of his slump to demonstrate where the proposed incision would take place.

            “Wait, cut?” Sideswipe asked, alarmed. “Can’t we just remove an armor plate?”

            “If it was you, yes. Not my frame. Redundant layers to protect patients in transport,” Ratchet explained. “There’s a cutter in there… make an incision this long, and this wide,” Ratchet said, indicating a section of his plating that was twice the width of his hand and about three times that long.

            “That’s… that’s pretty big,” Sunstreaker said, doubt clear in his tone.

            “Has to be. You don’t know what you’re doing and you’re going to need to be able to see. The energon will be draining downwards due to gravity, so that will help some, but the main line is deep inside.”

            “I don’t… we need you awake to talk us through this, but can’t we give you something to numb things in that area?” Sunstreaker asked. Ratchet heard a rustling sound and he opened his optic shutters enough to watch the frontliner poking at the neat little pile of colored ampules by the foot of the bed.

            Ratchet sighed tiredly. “I don’t have anything. If we were in the field, and I needed to do something like this, I’d just knock the mech out. I wouldn’t have time to wait for a local block to kick in.”

            “… you’ll have to hold me down,” Ratchet admitted after a pause. “Like when you first jumped me. I’m counting on you to be quick. You know how to use a knife; a cutter isn’t that much different.”

            Ratchet’s words were met by complete silence, but he soldiered on. Maybe now they would realize what they were getting into.

            “Once you get in, you should be able to see the leak. If it was a smaller line, you could clamp above it. But it’s too big and too important for everything else below,” Ratchet said, limply waving a hand to indicate his waist and on down.

            “Well, we can’t have your spike damaged; I’mma need that in the future,” Sideswipe piped up. Ratchet could still hear the grin in the other mech’s voice, but the humor was muted. “So if we can’t clamp it, what are we supposed to do?”

            “That’s the hard part. Should be steel wire in the first kit. Thread it through one of the smallest needles. Then stitch the rip closed. There’ll be too much energon flowing to see; you’ll have to…feel for the edges. Insert the needle about two inches… from the edge on each side. Too close and it will… rip through the line. Too far away from… the edge… and you’ll stricture the line down. There’ll be too much… pressure and it’ll pop back open… or flow to the rest of my body… on that side... will be cut off. You have to have… steady hands… to get it… just right,” Ratchet explained haltingly.

            His HUD popped up a warning that his fuel level was at 17%. and he batted the alert aside.

            “Frag,” Sunstreaker muttered. Ratchet stirred, blindly turning his head towards him.

            “What?”

            “Ratchet, I’d like to introduce you to Sunstreaker; he’ll be your surgeon today,” Sideswipe replied. “That’s what you get for being so meticulous in your work, bro. Hey, Ratchet, have you ever seen one of Sunstreaker’s paintings?”

            Ratchet’s orbital ridges rose in surprise. “No. I didn’t know you… painted, Sunstreaker.”

            “Sometimes,” Sunstreaker said grudgingly. “Stay alive, and I’ll show you.”

            “Ok, so we tie the edges together and then what? Weld the armor back into place?” Sideswipe asked, getting things back on track.

            Ratchet carefully shook his head, helm spinning unpleasantly. “There’s a portable… suction unit. Remove any excess… fluids from the body cavity. Dry… the line and then coat it… with the sealant. Follow… it up with rust protectant. Wrap the… line with the mesh bandage. Then… place a temporary patch over… the hole. If I make it, a medic… will need to check the work, make sure… nothing else needs to be done.

            “Don’t… lose that cut out plate; it’ll eventually… need to be replaced,” Ratchet warned. “I don’t want it getting… lost in the abyss… of your subspace pockets, Sideswipe.”

            “Don’t worry, Ratch. I’ll keep it safe; right next to my spark,” Sideswipe returned with a note of seriousness in his tone which worried Ratchet. Did Sideswipe really have a pocket next to his spark? Dear Primus. Ratchet hoped he didn’t store anything explosive in there.

            “Mmm. Well, I think… that’s about it. Better not waste… much more time. My fuel level… is down to 17%. Oh… 16% now. That will… actually help a little,” Ratchet mumbled, a sort of daze washing over him.

            “Right. Ok. Sunny – I think everything’s laid out. Portable cutter, wire and needles, sealant, bandage…”

            “Rust… protectant,” Ratchet prompted in a mutter.

            “Oh, right!” Ratchet heard some more rustling and then a dull thud as Sideswipe dropped the large bottle in the ready pile. “Ok, now that’s everything. Sunny?”

            There was a long pause. Ratchet let it ride, giving the twins time. But the moment stretched and went on until Ratchet wondered if he had actually blacked out.

            “Sunstreaker?” Ratchet inquired, lifting a hand into the air. Fingers immediately wrapped around Ratchet’s hand and squeezed. “It’s ok if you can’t… if either of you can’t…”

            “I can,” Sunstreaker replied fiercely. “I got this. You’re going to be fine.”

            Ratchet smiled weakly and squeezed back. “I’m sure I will. But… if I don’t make it…”

            “Shuttup,” Sideswipe commanded. “You’ll make it.”

            “If I don’t,” Ratchet repeated, emphasizing the words with some of the last of his energy, “…it’s ok. Don’t let… anyone hold it… against you. Prowl and Wheeljack both… know my emergency… codes for the medical files. And…. tell First Aid… he’ll be fine.”

            “Oh, Pit, Ratch,” Sideswipe murmured shakily, his hand suddenly appearing around Ratchet’s and Sunstreaker’s.

            “Come on now,” Ratchet encouraged after another minute of both the twins’ engines idling roughly. “Stop making… an old mech wait.”

            “Right. Right,” Sideswipe replied. “Sunny? Help me?”

            Ratchet let himself be mechandled onto the bed. It was even more comfortable than it looked, and he sank down on it with a sigh. Shaking hands rolled him onto his side, his sensors registering an uncomfortable amount of fluids rushing from the right side of his body to the left and leaking out between armor gaps.

            Another frame laid down next to him; Sideswipe, of course. The red frontliner scooted close and threw a leg over Ratchet’s, anchoring his lower half. Sideswipe then drew Ratchet into his arms, trapping Ratchet’s between their chests. Ratchet buried his face against Sideswipe’s shoulder.

            “Probably’ll scream,” Ratchet murmured.

            “Sunny’s good with a blade, just like you said. It’ll be over quick,” Sideswipe promised. But he still slid a hand up Ratchet’s back to lightly lay against his nape, ready to press him forward to muffle his cries.

            Ratchet relaxed into Sideswipe’s hold, listening to Sunstreaker shuffle around and open packaging. He thought he heard a soft hiss of a pressurized bottle; probably the sterilizer. A moment later he jumped as a cold mist settled on his side.

            “Good, Sunny,” Ratchet said, trying to raise his voice so Sunstreaker could hear. “Forgot that part.”

            Sunstreaker made a noise that sounded little and scared and Ratchet’s spark clenched in dismay. What was Ratchet doing? Allowing these two to attempt this? He was going to die; he had no doubt about that. He was going to die, and they would forever have that on their heads. He should have shot himself with the blaster when he still had the strength to do so.

            “You should see some of the paintings Sunstreaker’s done,” Sideswipe said out of the blue, talking as if they were just having a normal conversation. “He loves abstracts, but he’s really good at portraits. One time…”

            Ratchet didn’t really hear the rest. Sideswipe’s voice in Ratchet’s audial had apparently blocked the slight hum of the cutter turning on and so Ratchet was completely unprepared for the first slice. The pain penetrated deep, lighting up every plating sensor in the area. He reflexively jerked and tried to move away, but Sideswipe’s grip on him was firm.

            Denta clenching tight, he cried out, every inch of him strung tight. He knew he needed to stay still so that the cutter didn’t hit anything really important, but he couldn’t help his body’s instinctual urge to fight. Yet no matter how he twisted and turned, he was restrained. His vocalizations turned more and more shrill. They echoed oddly in his audials, iron fingers on the back of his helm keeping him from even moving his head.

            He forgot where he was. He forgot who he was with. All Ratchet knew was that he _hurt_. He hurt badly and his HUD was warning him that his layered armor was being breached in multiple places.

            The thing he was pressed against rumbled and then he heard a voice which his processor dimly recognized as Sideswipe’s.

            “Keep going.”

            “But…”

            “Do _not_ stop, Sunstreaker,” Sideswipe said, his voice firm. Ratchet suddenly hated him with every inch of his spark.

            “… please!” Ratchet shouted, struggling against Sideswipe’s restraining hands. Ratchet managed to turn his head just enough to open his mouth and he bit down, feeling something crumple beneath his denta.

            “Ow! Fragging… hurry _up_ , Sunny!” Sideswipe instructed, sounding strained.

            “He keeps moving; hold him still,” Sunstreaker retorted.

            “Don’t you think I’m trying?!”

            The sharp sensory input moved down his side by Ratchet’s hip, and he howled as the main sensory nexus in the area was torn into. Thrashing, Ratchet bit down even harder, his fingers spasmodically clenching into fists again and again. He was close to crushing some of the more delicate circuitry in his hands, but it was a distraction from the agony in his side.

            “It doesn’t have to be neat, just make an opening!” Sideswipe shouted, practically deafening Ratchet’s closest audial.

            The sensation of molten fire crept up his belly, and Ratchet couldn’t help it. He released Sideswipe’s plating and screamed, the back of his throat aching with the sound.

            “Almost there, almost… I’m almost done… oh, Primus. Oh, Primus, Sides, I’m going to the Pit for this,” Sunstreaker moaned to his brother, the words barely registering in Ratchet’s processor.

            “Shh… shh… Ratchet, you gotta be quiet. I know it hurts, I’m sorry, but you have to be quiet. Sounds echo in here… Ratchet, _please_ …”

            Ratchet couldn’t obey Sideswipe’s desperate begging. The pain was too immense, and Ratchet was honestly surprised he hadn’t fallen offline yet. Oh, how he wanted to.

            “Ok, ok, that’s it. Do I just… oh, slag, I can’t… got it!”

            Ratchet heard a clatter off to the side and then a cool breeze wafted over his internals. The sharp, unbearable pain of the laser cutter was gone, leaving behind a heavy, dull throbbing in his side. He collapsed against Sideswipe, keening softly.

            Ratchet felt Sideswipe shift a little and then dry lips were pressing a kiss against the top of Ratchet’s helm.

            “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Sideswipe whispered, sounding wretched. “That’s the worst of it though, I promise. Sunny… do you see the leak?”

            “Yeah… I… yeah, I think I do. Primus. It’s like someone shaved the edge of the line. It’s pretty long. It’s still bleeding quite a bit.”

            “Ok, hurry up and stitch it closed then,” Sideswipe commanded. His hand on the back of Ratchet’s helm started gently petting. “He can’t afford to lose much more.”

            “I’m aware of the time factor, Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker snapped.

            There was silence for a while, a quiet in which Ratchet floated on a sea of pain, disorientated with his surroundings. The sound of Sunstreaker cursing made him startle slightly.

            “Frag! My damn hands are shaking. My hands never shake,” Sunstreaker whined. “How am I supposed to get this damn wire in the needle?”

            “Sunny. Sunstreaker – look at me,” Sideswipe said softly, calmly. “You’re doing great. The next time I need surgery, if Ratch isn’t available, I’m going to you. You got this.”

            Sunstreaker heaved in a large gust of air and then blew it out slowly. “I’d rather paint you. You’re going to need a reapplication of wax when we get back, you know.”

            “Yeah, yeah… you ok now?”

            Ratchet heard some rustling, and then he felt something scrape against the side of his brand new hole. He whimpered at the sharp flare of pain.

            “Sorry, Ratch,” Sunstreaker said absently. “Ok, here it goes. About two inches away from the edge. Ugh… this feels weird… it’s pulsing.”

            “It’s a main line or something. It’ll move every time his fuel pump beats, I think.”

            Silence descended again, and Ratchet hovered on the edge of unconsciousness. Enough fluids had seeped out his other side that a puddle had grown beneath him. His HUD registered 9% fuel levels. All his tertiary systems had already shut down and now most of his secondaries were going as well. If Shockwave’s drones suddenly burst in, Ratchet would be completely unable to move; his motor components were all offline.

            “So, Ratchet, that guy I was telling you about?” Sideswipe said quietly after a hazy amount of time, pulling Ratchet back from the brink. “He actually had the nerve to refuse to pay us. Because Sunny didn’t have a degree. Like you need…”

            It was a completely inane topic, but Sideswipe continued to babble about it, seamlessly jumping from one story to the next. His voice was comforting; well, now that he wasn’t holding Ratchet down to essentially be tortured.

            Ratchet soon lost all sense of time and eventually the pain faded away. He didn’t even feel Sunstreaker’s hands working in him. If Ratchet hadn’t known better, he would have thought the twins had found some local anesthetic in his med kit. But he knew he didn’t have anything of the sort.

            He knew he was on the cusp of permanently offlining.

            Ratchet was strangely ok with that. He’d been fighting for a long time. Fighting to keep others alive, and fighting against depression and anger when he ultimately lost his patients to Death. He was glad he wouldn’t have to do it anymore. Even for these two mechs so intricately woven into his life and spark. He’d miss them. But they’d be all right. They had each other.

            Confident he was doing the right thing… Ratchet stopped fighting.

\--

            So color him surprised when he woke up.

            At first he thought he had ended up in the Pit and was about to meet the Unmaker. It figured his version of hell would be his own MedBay on the Ark. It was all the same: the orange ceiling, the narrow tables, the squeaky beep of his most reliable spark monitor…

            That was an awfully realistic detail to include.

            Ratchet turned his head and stared blankly at the monitor. Yup. That was Sparky, all right. And the machine’s blue wireless electrodes were attached on his chest in all the proper positions. Surely that wouldn’t be part of a visit to the Pit.

            He craned his neck and looked down at his side where the blaster shot had punctured his armor.

            “Well, frag me. They did it,” Ratchet murmured. His armor was whole once more, fresh welds highlighting Sunstreaker’s cut job. It consisted of surprisingly straight lines, except near his abdomen where it had hurt the most and Sideswipe hadn’t been able to hold him completely still.

            Checking his diagnostics, he found all of his fluids topped off and multiple creaky joints which had gone without proper maintenance for orns had been tended to. Ratchet actually felt the best he had in vorns. Yet he had a spark monitor attached to him, giving off some pretty unstable readings.

            Before he could reach over and bring up the monitor’s recent history, the door to the recovery room opened and First Aid strode in.

            “You’re awake!” First Aid exclaimed, hurrying over. “How do you feel?”

            “Surprisingly good,” Ratchet admitted as the other medic came to a stop at Ratchet’s bedside. “But just to certain… I’m not dead, am I?”

            First Aid cocked his head to the side, gaze wary as he studied Ratchet. “No… why would you think that?”

            “Because I was pretty sure I was going to die. The twins aren’t exactly known for their surgical expertise.”

            The tension left First Aid’s shoulders, and he whipped a scanner out from subspace and began passing it over Ratchet’s body. “From now on, they might be. I’ll have to show you the image captures. The suture line was incredibly precise.”

            Ratchet idly watched the motion of the scanner and First Aid’s intense perusal of its small screen. He felt a little detached from the whole situation. Ratchet’s last memories were of making peace with death and now here he was, online and whole. He’d have to adjust back to life again, and he didn’t quite know how to feel about that.  

            “Huh. Sideswipe said his brother had the steadier hand. To be honest, I was more worried about my fuel levels by the time I passed out.”

            “Sideswipe donated some of his energon to you via direct line,” First Aid informed Ratchet. “From what I gather, it was a bit dicey there at the end. Your spark stopped for nearly a breem. They somehow rigged up an impromptu fibrillator out of a pulse rifle? I don’t know really. It burned out the weapon’s core, but started your spark up again.”

            Ratchet glanced over at the monitor, First Aid following his gaze. “Ah. Yes. It was not without some side effects. You’re doing much better than when you were originally brought in, though.”

            Optical ridges raised, Ratchet just stared in astonishment at First Aid. His apprentice cleared the back of his intake nervously. “I don’t really care what they did. You’re alive and that’s what matters most.”

            “They surprised me,” Ratchet admitted after a moment. “Between myself and Wheeljack, we’re going to have to sit them down and talk to them about bare struts field medicine. Some of the things they made do with…”

            “Mm. A plan for another day. Anyway…,” First Aid continued, “…your systems were so starved they nearly drained Sideswipe dry before he realized it. Apparently Sideswipe replenished his own levels a bit by drinking processed energon that they had saved from your wound.”

            Ratchet heard the distaste in First Aid’s voice. He didn’t blame the other mech. Ratchet still wasn’t used to the idea himself.

            “How did we get back?” Ratchet asked after shrugging and moving on. All three of them were alive and it wasn’t from being squeamish.

            “They stabilized you as best as they could and carried you back to Autobot lines. Fortunately, Jazz had already been making some forays around the patrols, searching for any trace of you three. Once he made contact with the twins, he radioed it back to base and a small squad went out to protect the transport back. You’ve been here for the past three cycles. I took you into surgery immediately, but there honestly wasn’t much left for me to do except ensure integrity of that line and remove any foreign debris,” First Aid explained, putting his scanner away.

            “And Sunstreaker and Sideswipe? Are they all right?” Ratchet inquired, nodding thoughtfully.

            “We supplemented Sideswipe’s energon and that was about that. They were a bit scraped up, but nothing their self-repair couldn’t handle. I believe Sunstreaker sequestered them in one of the lesser used washracks for nearly a cycle; they’ve been shiny and pristine ever since,” First Aid reported, a smile evident in his warm tone.

            “Good. That’s good,” Ratchet murmured. He’d hate for his rescuers to have sustained any lasting damage from carting his aft around.

            “They’ve been wanting to visit,” First Aid added, propping a hand on his hip. “You weren’t responsive so I didn’t allow it, but now…”

            “How long am I in for?” Ratchet interrupted, struggling to sit up. First Aid hurriedly reached out a hand and helped, raising the upper half of the bed so Ratchet could recline against it.

            “Other than the spark issues, you would have been ready to go once you woke up. But that is not a normal reading,” First Aid said, gesturing at Sparky. “I’m going to keep you here until it evens out. It’s progressively gotten better, so I’m hoping not much longer.”

            Ratchet watched his erratic spark beats for a few astroseconds. He certainly wouldn’t let any of _his_ patients out the door with readings like that. Ratchet sighed and relaxed back against the pillows.

            “Yeah. Ok.”

            First Aid cocked his head to the side, and Ratchet felt the incredulous stare even through the other mech’s visor.

            “Seriously? You’re not going to fight me on this? Did you hit your head while you were out there?”

            “Ha. Ha,” Ratchet grumbled, crossing his arms over his windshield. “As good as they were with rudimentary supplies, the twins restarted my spark with a _pulse rifle_. No, I’m staying right here until it normalizes, thank you.”

            There were a lot of things Ratchet pushed through for his patients. Exhaustion, low fuel… but damage to sparks were serious business. Ratchet felt fine right now, but he needed to make sure he’d stay that way. Otherwise he’d be useless to the Autobots when he was needed most.

            “Huh. Well, all right then. I’ll leave you to rest as that seems to be what is helping the most,” First Aid said decisively. He gave a little nod and started to back away. Then he paused, glancing back towards Ratchet. “Was there… did I… did I miss anything?”

            His apprentice’s tone was hesitant. Ratchet smiled at him gently, feeling gracious. Being brought back from the brink of death really made him appreciate the mecha in his life.

            “You did great, kid. Thank you.”

            First Aid ducked his head. “You’re welcome. Although I’m probably not the one you should be thanking.”

            Ratchet squirmed until he was more comfortable, eagerly anticipating a bout of recharge. Repairs made one’s body tired. “I know. Trust me, I’ll thank them the next time I see them.”

-

            Ratchet napped on and off for the rest of the cycle, each time rising from recharge long enough to look at the spark monitor, just to see no change in his spark’s odd rhythm. In the middle of Hoist’s shift, Ratchet drank some medicinal energon, had the welds prodded at, and then promptly went back to sleep.

            Another cycle passed in much the same fashion, with no improvement in his spark. It was starting to get a little frustrating. Ratchet was staying awake longer and getting progressively more bored. He wanted to do something useful. Sitting idly by had never suited him.

            First Aid and Perceptor came in periodically and checked Sparky, frowning a little more each time. They each peered into Ratchet’s chest, but apparently everything looked normal.

            “It’ll just take time,” First Aid said eventually. Hesitantly. Because none of them, not even Ratchet, had much experience with treating spark damage. And so Ratchet continued to live in the recovery room.

            First Aid started allowing more and more visitors as the days went by. Optimus and Wheeljack fought over who got to be first. Wheeljack won of course, as Optimus was always willing to make sacrifices. Ironhide and Smokescreen stopped by daily, and Bluestreak talked Ratchet’s audial off for nearly a joor at one point. Which was better than staring at the walls, really.

            Ratchet only asked about the twins once. Optimus had merely gazed at him placidly and said that they were doing fine and would probably visit as soon as they came off patrol.

            Their patrol came and went, and Ratchet never saw Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. He didn’t really do hurt feelings, but he was a little perplexed about why they were keeping their distance all of a sudden. He was closer than most to the twins, but it didn’t mean he understood them even half the time.

            So he put it out of his mind and worked on catching up on all the medical journals he had been meaning to read.

\--

            Another two cycles later, Ratchet woke to an almost excessive warmth. He stirred with a cranky murmur, trying to scoot away from the source of the heat, but it followed him. Confused, he opened his optics, ready to roll over and see what the issue was.

            But an unexpected gaze caught his, and Ratchet blinked in surprise at the mech sitting by the bed.

            “Sunny’s a cuddler. Think he makes up for not wanting to ‘face by aggressively snuggling anyone that falls into reach,” Sideswipe informed Ratchet, voice soft.

            “How many people know that about him?” Ratchet asked after a moment, processor too fuzzy to really comprehend the position he was in.  

            “Me. You.” Sideswipe paused, and his lips quirked up in amusement. “Prowl.”

            “Prowl? That must be a Pit of a story,” Ratchet commented, imaging a surly Prowl being cuddled by Sunstreaker. It was a ridiculous image.

            “I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” Sideswipe said, grinning. “You’ll have to ask him.”

            Ratchet nodded, gaze wandering over Sideswipe’s frame. He was sprawled in the visitor’s chair, slouched down with the side of his helm resting on a propped up hand. The frontliner looked tired, his optics dim and faintly flickering.

            “You doing ok, Sides?” Ratchet asked quietly, gaze ending back up on the frontliner’s face.

            Sideswipe looked taken back. “What? Yeah, ‘course. We’re not the ones recuperating from a major injury.” He glanced over at the spark monitor, lips thinning.

            Ratchet looked as well, making a wordless noise of surprise as he saw the readings. His spark rhythm was finally steady, although there was still the occasional peak that was higher than the rest.

            “I might just be recovered, actually.” Ratchet propped himself up on his elbow, the frontliner plastered to his back subvocally grumbling at the movement.

            “Huh?”

            Ratchet pointed at the monitor. “My spark rhythm. It’s practically back to normal now. Took long…”

            Just then Sunstreaker squirmed closer, pressing himself more firmly against Ratchet’s dorsum. Even through their respectively thick armor, Ratchet could feel the slow pulse of Sunstreaker’s spark. It was steady and strong, each beat matching those on the monitor, almost as if the electrodes were on Sunstreaker’s body instead of Ratchet’s.

            “Oh,” Ratchet said softly, shock stealing away his words.  

            Sideswipe shot to his feet, a worried expression on his face. “’Oh’? Oh, what? What’s wrong? Should I get First Aid?”

            Ratchet rushed to reassure the other mech. “No! Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that the two of you keep surprising me.”

            “What’d we do now?” Sideswipe asked, half in curiosity, half despair.

            Ratchet reached out and grasped Sideswipe’s forearm, gesturing at the monitor once more. “I’ve read an anecdotal story once… never thought much of it at the time. It was about a mech who suffered severe spark trauma. His sparkrate kept speeding up and slowing down… it would never stabilize. He was like that for nearly an orn until one day his mate laid down beside him. The next cycle, his spark rhythm returned to normal. The physician on the case was baffled; he jokingly said that the mech’s spark just needed to relearn what a regular rhythm was; the mate’s spark had inadvertently shown the way.”

            Sideswipe cocked his head to the side, gaze roving over Ratchet’s frame and then Sunstreaker’s. Sideswipe’s optics widened. “You don’t think…?”

            Ratchet shrugged. “Anything’s possible. Sparks are odd little things; just look at the two of you. In theory, your sparks shouldn’t be able to support a frame bigger than a cassette. Yet both of you are healthy at your current mass.”

            “We were both laying with you at first,” Sideswipe murmured, gaze drifting to the side in thought. “But it was too tight a fit so I left to sit in the chair. Our sparks will beat in sync if we’re close enough. Maybe it was a double whammy from both sides?”

            “Evidence points to yes,” Ratchet said with a grin. He was already feeling perkier than he had been in cycles. “Just how many times am I supposed to be thanking you two for saving my life?”

            “Ratchet,” Sideswipe said, looking serious. “We’ve lost count of how many times you’ve pulled Sunny or me back from the brink. And with far better techniques,” he added, frowning once more at the monitor.

            Ratchet squeezed Sideswipe’s forearm. “Hey. The way you brought me back was different, but it worked. Everything you two did out there was unconventional, but it still kept me going.”

            Sideswipe ducked his head, twisting his arm out of Ratchet’s grip and rubbing at the area where Ratchet’s fingers had been. “I… are you still mad?”

            “Mad about what?” Ratchet asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

            "Don’t you remember?” Sideswipe said softly. “We got your spark working again but you didn’t actually wake up until we were on the move. You asked us why you were still alive. You said… you said we should have just left you in peace. Do you even want to be here right now? Because a war certainly isn’t peaceful.”

            Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chest, and Ratchet suddenly realized that his back was cold. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Sunstreaker was awake. He had scooted back to the edge of the bed and was staring down at the surface of it, expression guilty.

            Ratchet abruptly pushed himself upright and squirmed around until he sat at the foot of the bed. He waved away the twins’ hovering hands and gestured for Sideswipe to sit next to his brother. Sideswipe did so reluctantly, Sunstreaker drawing himself up until the two of them faced off against Ratchet.

            “Look. Serious talk here - I’ve been around a long time. I’m old. I’m tired. It kills me a little every time Wheeljack blows himself apart or Megatron roughs Optimus up. Or the two of you get hurt on some stupid stunt.”

            Ratchet held up a hand to forestall the twins’ protest.

            “I honestly thought I was going to die. You were doing your best, but I was fading fast and I couldn’t think of anything else to suggest. I had made my peace with things,” Ratchet said and then paused, staring off into the distance.

            “Do you ever just get tired of fighting? Tired of doing the same thing over and over again?” Ratchet said. “And then you get a break from it and you finally relax, but barely a moment later, you’re shoved right back into the very thing that made you tired in the first place?”

            “Once more into the fray,” Sunstreaker mumbled, his gaze dropping down to his lap. Sideswipe pressed against Sunstreaker’s shoulder and nodded in silent agreement.

            “Yeah, well I’ve been in the fray a lot,” Ratchet said. “And for a moment there… it was right to stop fighting, especially when all options seemed to have been exhausted.

            “Then you two come along. Doing Primus only knows what with a fragging _pulse rifle_ , and now here I am again. With a frame that feels better than it has in vorns and a multitude of options open to me. I _do_ want to be here. And I’m grateful you gave me the chance to remember that,” Ratchet said forcefully, reaching out and grasping one of the twins’ hands apiece. Sideswipe squirmed uncomfortably, and Sunstreaker ducked his head even further, but they both allowed the touch.

             “Look at me,” Ratchet commanded, squeezing their fingers.

             Reluctantly, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe met Ratchet’s optics. Once he was sure he had their attention, he firmed his hold even more.

             “Thank you,” Ratchet said. “From a very coherent me… _thank you_.”

             For a long moment the three of them were silent, Ratchet earnestly looking into their faces one after the other.

             Then Sideswipe snorted, shaking his head.

             “Damn, Ratch. Never would have thought you to be such a sap,” he said, grinning.

             Ratchet rolled his optics and released the twins’ hands with a little shove. “It’s a once in a lifetime experience, and it won’t happen again.”

             “Awww… you mean you’re not gonna tell us how much you looooove us?” Sideswipe teased, pushing himself to his knees and making kissy faces as he leaned in.

             Ratchet put a hand on Sideswipe’s forehelm and pushed, toppling the red twin into Sunstreaker’s lap.

             “I merely tolerate you. _You,_ Sunstreaker… you, I like,” Ratchet emphasized, pointing at Sunstreaker.

             If Ratchet were being one hundred percent honest with himself, he would say that he did actually love the twins. He’d been an only sparkling, but the twins felt like the younger (annoying) brothers he’d never had. He dared not say that out loud however, especially to Sunstreaker who was notoriously emotionally skittish.

             The golden frontliner preened. “He likes me better than you,” he said smugly, shoving Sideswipe away.

             “As long as I get to have his spike, I’m ok with that,” Sideswipe chirped, rolling off the bed and standing. He pretended to brush himself off, Sunstreaker also getting to his pedes.

             “Well, I feel better, but I don’t know if I’m quite up to interfacing just yet,” Ratchet commented, working his way back to his original position in the bed.

             Sideswipe winked one optic at him as they started towards the door. “Just give me a call when you are. Get some rest; I want you at 100%. Want us to give the happy news to First Aid on the way out?”

             Ratchet nodded. “Yeah, send him in. It’s about time to start the negotiations to my release.”

             The twins paused in the open doorway, looking back over their shoulders in eerie unison at Ratchet. “We’re glad you’re alive, Ratchet,” Sunstreaker said shyly.

             “Me too, boys. Me too.”

             Ratchet knew he’d be back on duty soon, repairing repetitive injuries on his favorite mecha. And now that they were a little closer, working on the twins would be more difficult. But it would be worth it to keep those two going and remaining one of many bright spots in Ratchet’s life.

 

 ~ End        

           


End file.
